


Alternative Ending: Extended

by moroiulmeu



Series: Amadeus: Lost Scenes Series [3]
Category: Amadeus (1984)
Genre: 60 words short how infuriating., Don't judge my Italian... It's horrid, M/M, drama to fluff, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 23:07:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20629046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moroiulmeu/pseuds/moroiulmeu
Summary: Salieri has decided he's had enough of this nonsense, he's taking Mozart home. Rewritten and extended because it felt like it was missing something, rushed if you will. I'll let you decide between the two.





	Alternative Ending: Extended

His teeth were chattering and his fingers were numb as he scratched out the notes of the Kyrie. Antonio Salieri found himself wishing he had not elected to remove his coat before beginning to take dictation, regardless of the ink he was getting everywhere. He could hear the wind howling through the house and was dimly aware of the sound of a drip in a not too distant location.  
Mozart appeared oblivious to these things as he ploughed on, conducting in the air to a requiem only he could hear, one that Salieri was learning with a growing dread.  
He eyed the sheen of sweat on Mozart's ghastly white skin and the dark circles around his eyes.  
"Enough," Salieri said abruptly, setting down his quill.  
"What do you mean, 'enough'?" Mozart asked hesitantly, "We have to go on!"  
Salieri shook his dark head, starring at Mozart solemnly and starting to rise.  
"Salieri, wait!" Mozart cried, lurching forward in a panic, "Salieri! Antonio... Please, I'm begging you... I can't do this without you..."  
Salieri stood there rooted to the spot. Oh, how he would have loved to hear those words months ago... Now they left him empty and afraid.  
"We will finish your requiem, Herr Mozart... But not tonight. I'm getting you out of this frozen hell hole."  
"We don't have enough time," Mozart said desperately, half pulling at his hair.  
Salieri took his hands and gently pulled them away.  
"I'm taking you home with me, where you will be fed, kept warm, and receive the medical care you so urgently require."  
Mozart laughed weakly.  
"Don't bother, I won't survive the night."  
"If I don't get you out of this place right now, of that, I have no doubt."  
"It doesn't matter!" Mozart cried, "I need to finish this thing, I need-"  
Salieri set a hand over Mozart's mouth, looking at him levelly.  
"Mozart... Wolfgang... You're going to die from exposure alone if I leave you here. Let me take care of you and I promise you we will finish this. You are in no danger from anyone else tonight, only your own body."  
The distress in Mozart's expression made him wince. He pulled the covers back and Mozart grabbed his wrist.  
"I'm begging you..."  
"I am a teacher, Mozart, I am immune to begging," Salieri replied, hoping to get a rise out of him.  
Instead Mozart let out a noise that sounded more like a whine.  
Salieri sighed and draped his coat over Mozart's shivering form.  
"Do you have a folder in which I can put the requiem?" He tried, wrapping a blanket around him as well.  
"In the cabinet" Mozart replied dully.  
A moment later Salieri had the folder and tucked the requiem carefully inside.  
"Hold this," Salieri told him, handing the folder to Mozart before pulling the blanket up over the back of his head.  
"Why can't you car-"  
Mozart found himself being picked up yet again that night.  
"Because the chances of you walking across the room are zero, the chances of you making it down the stairs is somewhere in the negative," Salieri replied, carrying his charge out of the room.  
Mozart let out a small gasp of surprise as he realized his teeth were chattering when they stepped out into the night air once more, barely noting that the snow was still falling in the deceptively peaceful night.  
Salieri managed to flag down a cab and tuck Mozart inside of it before climbing in himself.  
"Salieri, this isn't getting anything done," Mozart complained as Salieri pulled him closer for warmth.  
"If it saves your life it hardly matters," Salieri replied.  
"But the figure! The man in the-"  
"Enough!" Salieri barked, surprising himself, before he finished in barely a whisper, "I will deal with your figure."  
Mozart fell quiet, one his hands grabbing Salieri's.  
"I don't want him taking you too," Mozart said finally.  
"That won't happen," Salieri promised.  
Salieri wracked his brain. Surely it couldn't be too difficult to determine what the Baron had slipped Mozart to cause his condition, could it?  
He found himself praying to the God he had been so angry with, silently begging for the life of the little man in his arms.

The second Salieri half kicked open his own doors he yelled for a doctor, startling his servant badly.  
"Don't just stand there, GO!" Salieri half roared, surprising even himself. He swore in Italian.  
His servant fled, terrified, having never seen his master anything but calm.  
Muttering a mixture of curses and prayers Salieri carried the bundle in his arms to his rooms, where he sat Mozart down gently on the bed.  
"Now?" Mozart asked, holding out the requiem. He sounded slightly disoriented, shaking Salieri's nerves even more.  
"First thing is first, you need dry and warmer clothes," Salieri replied, pulling the blanket off of the top of Mozart's head.  
He almost smiled at how chaotic it left the blond's hair.  
"It's not important," Mozart insisted.  
"It is important," Salieri replied, selecting the warmest clothes he owned, "You'll likely drowned in these but I'll be damned for eternity if I let you freeze in those... Not that I'm not already..." He added to himself, also grabbing a few towels as well.  
Mozart glanced at him, frowning.  
"Come on, a little cooperation," Salieri fussed, pulling the blanket away.  
Mozart's expression twisted into displeasure as Salieri took his coat and shirt. He made a funny noise as he carefully dried his skin. Mozart's jaw dropped in a look of comic surprise.  
"I can't leave you like this," Salieri repeated, tackling Mozart's hair with another towel, "I think this is the first time I've ever seen you speechless."  
Salieri paused and look around the towel, wondering why, and was surprised to find Mozart crying silently.  
"Mozart... Wolfgang... I-"  
Without a single warning Mozart half threw his arms around Salieri, burying his face in his vest. Salieri stood there awkwardly, the towel in one hand and the other poised over Mozart's head. He sighed again and hugged him, causing Mozart to tighten his grip as much as he could.  
"Wolfgang, you're in no condition to be this upset," Salieri chastised quietly.  
"Why are you doing this?" Mozart mumbled, "Guilt?"  
Salieri stood there, contemplating his answer, not even noticing that he was petting Mozart's hair, causing him to slump. He looked down sadly. Didn't he have Mozart exactly where he had wanted him? And now he wanted him anywhere but here, or worse.  
"It doesn't matter," Mozart said finally, "Thank you."  
Salieri sighed, looking at the violent scars on the pale composer's frame and fighting a strange urge to kiss them. Instead he absently caressed one, causing Mozart to glance at him curiously.  
He still had no response as he helped Mozart into the clothes, and he continued to not have one as he wrapped his robe around those, and then half buried the tiny man in blankets.  
"I'm going to find you some food," He said simply.  
Mozart half nodded, his eyes closed and Salieri slipped out of the room as quietly as possible. It wasn't until he was out of the room that he found himself able to breathe.

When he returned with a bowl of warm soup there was a brief moment he feared the worst until he saw Mozart's shallow breath. He sat down on the edge of the bed and set a hand on Mozart's shoulder.  
"Hey..."  
His eyes shot open and for a brief moment he starred at Salieri in alarm.  
"I brought you some soup," Salieri explained, nodding at the bowl in his hand, "I didn't think you would feel much like eating."  
Mozart struggled to sit up with a quiet "Thanks."  
He managed to drink about half the bowl before making a peculiar face.  
"Damn..." Salieri muttered, grabbing a nearby basin and moving it underneath Mozart just in time.  
He pushed Mozart's hair back from his face, grimacing at the scalding skin underneath.  
"Where the hell is that doctor..." He wondered outloud.  
Mozart let out something between and cry and a whimper.  
"Easy, Wolfgang... Take it easy..."  
"It hurts..."  
Instinctively Salieri pulled him into another hug and he fell into his arms like a limp ragdoll, Salieri rubbing his shoulders and the back of his neck. The thin, fragile body seemed to relax some. He weakly pushed himself up enough to look Salieri dead on, his pale eyes half glazed over with fever.  
"If I'm going to die here in your arms you don't have to be a bastard about it."  
Salieri gawked, wondering what on Earth this line was about before, surprisingly fast for his condition, Mozart seized the sides of his face and kissed him.  
The amount of thoughts, feelings, and sensations that ran through Salieri's mind was enough to shut it down completely. The taste of vomit, soup, alcohol, and he didn't want to know what else was enough to cause his own stomach to flip the rest of the way. Mozart half let go half fell, his strength gone as he nearly passed out in Salieri's arms, but Salieri sat there stiff as a rail, holding him tightly. There was a hint of something on Mozart's breath that he had tasted just as the blond let go and he sat there wracking his brain, trying to remember what it was.  
He knew what it was.  
He hastily set his charge down.  
"Antonio?" Mozart asked, frowning, barely opening his eyes.  
"I'll be right back. I swear to God I'm going to fix this."  
"Antonio, wait..."  
Salieri half ran from the room, almost colliding with the doorframe on the way out, praying he was not too late.  
"Where the hell is that doctor!?"

Salieri's prayers did not go unheard, he made it halfway to the kitchen before there was a knock on his door. He changed his course mid sprint and half ripped the door off its hinges pulling it open.  
"Finally! I-" He stopped.  
It was not the doctor or his servant on the other side. The man in the cloak, his man, stood behind it.  
"Salieri! I think you will be pleased, I-"  
In a rage Salieri seized von Walsegg by his cloak and slammed him into the wall.  
"What did you give him!?" He demanded lowly, switching his grip to man's throat.  
He choked.  
"Salieri, have you gone ma-"  
"Answer me!" Salieri hissed, "What did you poison Mozart with? Was it the usual? Hmm? Was that it? Did you think you would get away with this? WE NEVER AGREED TO THAT PART."  
The terror in von Walsegg's eyes sent a shiver of disgust up Salieri's spine.  
"I had to do something, the Lodge, his concert-"  
"Take your Lodge and shove it up your ass!" Salieri growled, tightening his hold.  
He thought of Mozart upstairs, of the condition he had left him in. Would he approve of this?  
Salieri shifted his grip, seizing von Walsegg's face under the mask by the jaw.  
"Get out of my house before I change my mind, and pray to God I never get my hands on you. If you or anyone else touches him again God save you from me."  
With that he threw von Walsegg out of the house and slammed the door before hurrying to the kitchen as though he had never been interrupted at all.  
Years ago Gassmann had taught Salieri about court intrigue and the dangers that laid therein, he had taught him things that Salieri had laughed at then, a knowledge of poisons, of antidotes, of medical care... Never did Salieri imagine he would use any of the information but a part of him humored the old man's memory. Now as he picked ingredients from his cupboards, his heart pounding in his chest, he thanked both Gassmann and God.  
He continued his fervent prayers as he mixed the tincture, bargaining with God, offering him anything and everything.  
"Take my life if you must," He said softly, setting down the spoon, "Just give me his."

Salieri hurried back to the room and was somewhat relieved that Mozart's condition had not worsened much. He shook him gently and Mozart jumped again.  
"Wolfgang, drink this..."  
"What is it?"  
"Something that will make you feel better," Salieri replied, praying that was true.  
Mozart drank part of the glass and made a funny face.  
"It tastes awful."  
A ghost of a smile twitched at the corner of Salieri's lips.  
"Medicine always does. Come on, just a little more..."  
Mozart drank the rest and then curled up in a ball, his eyes slipping shut.  
Salieri pulled the covers up around him and then sat down anxiously, silently promising his vigil.

The bed was soft and warm, nothing like his bed at home, the old, ratted blankets and pillows scratchy and thin. No, these were of the softest materials he had felt in a long time, some of them felt like silk. They smelled clean with a hint of cologne he recognized, a fresh scent that reminded him of the trees, of fresh rain.  
Salieri.  
Mozart buried himself deeper into the covers. If this was a dream he hardly wanted to wake up. His skin brushed a soft material different from the sheets and he cracked his eyes open enough to see the edges of a deep red dressing gown. He sniffed it.  
Salieri.  
He hugged himself with a contended sigh.  
There was something he had to do, what was it? Did it matter here, in this bed?  
Something to do with life, wasn't it?  
No, that wasn't right.  
Something to do with death?  
The requiem.  
Panic surged through him and he struggled to sit up, suddenly realizing how rough and battered his body felt, how weak. He looked around in alarm and spotted a tall figure sprawled in a nearby chair and his heart skipped, thinking for a moment that his cloaked specter had seized him in the night.  
That was until he focused and recognized the figure for who it was, his long hands wrapped around a glass. A wave of relief spread through Mozart as he realized it was Salieri himself, wearing a deeply troubled expression, starring blankly into the fireplace.  
Mozart took a second to quietly admire the man, watching the firelight dance across his dark features, a world of difference from the sheet white Austrians. It made him smile.  
"Is this your bed?" Mozart asked finally, hoping to break the ice, "It smells like you... I mean, not to sound weird or anything... I haven't been sniffing you. I mean, you smell nice, but..."  
Salieri jerked upwards like a marionette having its strings pulled. So quickly did he move he cricked his neck.  
Mozart winced, watching him rub it.  
"Sorry..."  
"Wolfgang... It is mine, yes... How are you feeling?"  
"Better," Wolfgang admitted, "I didn't meant to startle you."  
Salieri shook his head.  
"I was just thinking, that's all. It's my fault."  
"Well, I can hardly fault you for that," Mozart replied drily, unable to surpress another smile.  
Salieri looked at the empty glass in his hands before sighing and setting it down on a nearby table, almost resigned.  
"I was thinking too," Mozart said suddenly.  
"Oh God, Vienna won't survive if you keep doing that."  
Mozart snickered rather than laughed, causing Salieri to look up in surprise.  
"No, no... I was thinking about the first time we met."  
Salieri made an amused noise, "That could have gone differently..."  
"God, how I wanted to impress you."  
He froze, starring, his jaw falling open in shock, the jarring memory pulling itself to the forefront of his mind.  
"What?" Salieri asked faintly.  
Mozart nodded, more to himself than to Salieri.  
"I heard your scores all over Europe," He said warmly, "I saved money to buy the copies I could find. I told you about the variations I wrote to_ Mio Caro Adone_?"  
Salieri's battered heart did a strange flip in his chest, somewhere between a refusal to feel any more pain and disappointment and a weird hope that this conversation was not going where he assumed, where others had gone in the past.  
"I hadn't seen you yet, I had heard what you looked like, but the music... Why do you think I chose that piece in particular?"  
Salieri held out his hands, feeling himself withdraw further, expecting another blow. His ears ached as he expected Mozart's words to twist the knife in his heart again.  
Mozart tilted his head, watching him curiously with a flicker of concern.  
"I didn't need to see your face to make the association. I knew you were beautiful by the sounds I heard."  
Salieri felt like the entire opera house had fallen straight ontop of him, his chest constricting painfully. He could only sit in mute silence, starring as Mozart ploughed on.  
"I was wrong. I was so wrong..."  
He silently asked God why on Earth He didn't just rip his heart ouf his chest personally rather than allow His voice to continue such brutality, to attack him like this.  
Mozart winced.  
"Don't get me wrong... I don't think you understand, please don't..."  
Salieri wondered what brought this sentence on before he realized he was crying.  
"When I say I was wrong I don't mean it like that," Mozart said hurriedly, "I mean I underestimated you. My God, I'm an idiot... Antonio, listen to me, agree with me, please... Look, understand, it was too ugly a word, too common..."  
Salieri frowned, unsure of where this was going but the possibility was creating a strange feeling, easing the knots inside of him.  
"I could kick myself right now," Mozart muttered, rubbing his brows before his eyes. He sighed, dropping his hands in his lap helplessly, "I'm going to sound like such a fool, I beg your forgiveness, Signore, but when I walked into that room I swore I had never seen anyone so stunningly transplendent in my entire life."  
Everything went numb, Salieri didn't even process that he hiccuped until afterwards. He excused himself, visibly folding inward, starring at nothing with one hand over his mouth. Surely this was another joke?  
_Let's all poke fun at Antonio,_ he thought savagely, starting to have second thoughts about all of his actions through the night in misery.  
"Antonio," came Mozart's voice sharply, cutting through his thoughts.  
He glanced up coolly but was unable to look away, the expression on Mozart's face was dead serious.  
"I've been an absolute rotten bastard to you... I've done nothing but insult, humiliate, and hurt you even while you were still trying to help me. I really, really don't blame you. I'd hate me too. But listen to what I have to say, please..."  
Salieri dropped his head on his hand gloomily.  
"The first time I heard your music I knew what I was," Mozart continued, holding out his hands, "My father was right, I'm a fraud."  
Salieri sat up quickly, making Mozart draw back slightly.  
"Keep listening, please, before you argue. Here, I thought, was the genius of the eighteenth century. Here is the man that will go down in the pages. My father disagreed, he was, if you recall from your brief meetings, rather an opinionated individual-"  
"A racist, violent, tyrannic-"  
"-Yes, all those things. And more. I'm not blind, Antonio... I can play, I can write... I'm damn good thanks to him-"  
"-Mozart-"  
"-Let me finish... I'm still not feeling so hot... And I may be just a step below you, the second best... Because you know what the difference is between me and you?"  
Salieri sighed.  
"This isn't really-"  
"Emotion. Signore, I had never heard such music in my life, I was intimidated. Here was a man who had something I never would. Could never have. Technical skill is wasted if you can't make the audience cry."  
Salieri smiled bitterly.  
"You made plenty of people cry, Herr Mozart. Myself included."  
"But why, Antonio? Was it the music? Let me admit something else to you, I may have said some very wicked things, Antonio, I may have tried my best to hide myself, but it did me no good. Every performance I attended I wept, the chaos of my thoughts silenced by sounds I swore fell straight out of the Heavens. I found myself terrified with everything I wrote, hoping that if I just-"  
Mozart cut himself off as Salieri started laughing. He had heard Salieri laugh before, it was a sound he silently relished, committing every note to memory, but never had he heard this sound. It was completely unrestrained and it caused him to listen with delight. His smile slipped slightly as he noted the undertone of hysteria.  
"No, please," Salieri gasped, "Don't let me stop you there."  
"I was hoping that if I impressed you enough some day you would let me write for you..." Mozart continued, putting his hands together, "I was foolish enough to hope you would sing for me."  
Salieri stopped everything, starring again.  
"'Sing for you'?" He repeated faintly.  
Mozart nodded, "I knew you sing, that you are very accomplished, you used to sing in a choir, you sang for the Emperor, but I've never heard you... With your voice I can hardly imagine what kind of sound that is. I've toyed with the idea for so long, scribbling down notes I wondered may be in your range... I played with the dynamics, your speaking voice is so soft that I wondered at your capacity... Did you sing opera? My mind ran rampant, taking my heart with it I'm afraid. It's been yours for so long I hardly know if it belonged to anyone beforehand. I... I wasn't with her, that was a lie, just a joke, I was hoping you would be jealous, just, not in that way, and when I wrote that aria, well, now you know what I was thinking... Why else would I ask one of your students to sing it?"  
Salieri sat there, silently repeating Mozart's words to himself over and over again, hoping they would sink in and make more sense, or else dissolve completely.  
Exhausted, he pulled the wig off his head and ran his hand through his hair. He glanced at Mozart and then looked again. Mozart was watching him with pure joy. He noted grimly the faint shimmer against his ghostly skin, but reasoned that it was far better than before.  
"What?" He asked.  
"Your hair!" Mozart exclaimed, "I wasn't expecting it to be that short...Or that dark."  
Salieri dropped his head on his hand again, wondering where this was going.  
"You're simply exquisite," Mozart said quietly, "Utterly divine."  
He raised his head in surprise, watching as Mozart's face fell.  
"Oh, here I am gushing like a teenage girl when you likely think me an abomination," he muttered, looking down, "I'm so tired, Antonio... Will you tell me?"  
"Tell you what?"  
"Your thoughts."  
Salieri reasoned with himself, on one hand he did not want to say anything until he had made a full confession, on the other hand he knew he could not tell Mozart to rest without putting his mind at ease.  
"I think... Herr Mozart..." He began softly in measured tones, "That you are much too harsh with yourself, as you are with everything. Your thoughts appear to curiously reflect my own, but as far as your music being purely technical, I would have to disagree."  
Mozart gave him a tired smile.  
"Ah, Signore, you miss me entirely. Over time that became for you. People heard what they wanted to hear before. I gave them music they could reflect with... Sure I dumped what I felt at times, but God I wish I felt more."  
Salieri glossed over the first part.  
"I think I understand, but I will ask anyway, what do you mean?"  
"I felt so empty," Mozart replied quietly, "I didn't care, about them, about myself, about anything, really..." He laughed but it wasn't the sound Salieri had resigned himself to becoming used to. It was gentler, bitter, hollow. It set his nerves on edge more than the usual sound he heard, "Oh, there were things here and there... But not like you, Signore. I couldn't pack every piece. No, that's not my gift, that's yours. It wasn't until after I fell in love that I could do anything of the sort."  
"Constanze is a remarkable woman," Salieri offered, unsure of what to say.  
Mozart snorted.  
"Antonio Salieri, you're an idiot. A beautiful, stunning, glorious, genius of a man, it's true, but you're an idiot."  
"Wolfgang-"  
"I love you," Mozart said, throwing his arms up in resignation with another tired smile, "There. I said it."  
There had been many things that night that Salieri had not expected to hear, many events that had taken place he had never dreamed of, but of all the words the three that had fallen out of Mozart's mouth were the least likely to have crossed his mind.  
He starred, unable to think or breathe, his heart slamming in his chest at a very irregular rhythm.  
"I found myself unable to stop thinking about you... I wondered what you were like to the people you were close to. I wanted to make you laugh, to make you smile... And I wondered... I wondered what it would be like to run my fingers through your hair... How soft was your skin? Was it cool to the touch or warm? What did those golden lips taste like? What would it be like to kiss you and stare into that glittering abyss? I wanted to know so badly... I am so sorry... I truly am... I never meant to hurt you."  
A violent shudder ran through him.  
Mozart's face fell into worry.  
"You don't have to say anything," He continued, "Nothing at all. It's fine. Don't tell anyone, alright? They'd hang me."  
The mental image made him flinch, somehow Mozart had come too close to hanging for his liking already.  
"Would you still feel comfortable about the requiem?" Mozart tried, sounding hopeful.  
"What about Constanze?" Salieri asked hoarsely, finding the subject wringing his heart like a wet rag. He winced inwardly as he realized what he had been feeling for some time had been tainted with a jealousy he had brutally ignored.  
Mozart laughed. This too was not the sound Salieri was used to. The anxiety in the laughter was gone, cutting the edge off the dynamic level.  
"Stanze?" Mozart replied, "_Stanze?_ Are you that naive, Antonio? It's cute... I'm sure my sister, Nannerl, keeps her more occupied than I do."  
Salieri almost choked.  
"Our marriage was kind of forced," He continued, shrugging his shoulders.  
"I understand... Her parents."  
"Yes... How are yours? I want to me-"  
"I am an orphan, Herr Mozart," Salieri said quickly, thinking his heart couldn't take anymore tonight.  
Mozart lost what little color had returned to his face.  
"I'm sorry, I didn't know... I should have... When I asked around I got a lot of conflicting stories about you. Nobody really seemed to know. Those that did were not budging. You're very private."  
"That's true..." Salieri sighed, "Mozart, look, I need you to listen to me..."  
Mozart nodded, surprising Salieri with giving him his full attention.  
"I have a confession... One which you may hate me by the end of..."  
"Oh, I don't think I could do that, Signore."  
"Hear me out..."

Salieri slumped in his chair, entirely spent, his eyes mostly closed. His story had taken some time to tell, but few had been the times Mozart had interrupted him, and only then it was for clarification on this or that, otherwise he had listened silently. Salieri had been unable to keep silent any longer, not with the words he had heard earlier that evening, nor had he much success with containing himself and his emotions. Now he sat feeling like he was awaiting judgement, the tear stains on his face still wet, his hands folded limply in his lap.  
"Back up just a second..." Mozart said, frowning, "The Masons? How fucking petty do you have to be to murder someone for a poverty level performance which all of twelve people attended?"  
Salieri looked up, frowning, then shook his head.  
"'Twelve people?' You really were out of it... The next performance you give I suggest you use your eyes."  
Mozart starred at him.  
"How many people were there?"  
"An awful lot..."  
Mozart huffed, "Still not a good reason. I understand your position Signore, I'm entirely hopeless. You didn't stand a chance. I'd want to kill me too, but damn... I mean how many people are actually going to pick up on the symbolism?"  
Salieri shrugged, "I couldn't tell you."  
"It hardly matters now... And you threw him out?"  
"I did."  
"So the requiem can wait... Though I would still like you to finish it with me, if you're in agreement... Unless my own confession makes you uncomfortable..."  
Salieri was silent for a moment, considering, before he rose from his chair languidly, resigning himself to whatever the consequences of his actions were, and crossed the short distance between them. Mozart leaned back a little, uncertainty on his face.  
He winced, realizing Mozart fully expected rejection. It was what he, like Salieri, was used to.  
Salieri gave him a tired smile, took his face in his hands, and kissed him. It still tasted like vomit.

There was a knock on the door. Salieri groaned inwardly, having no inclination to get up and answer it. He was warm again, finally, under all these blankets and hugging the tiny, sleeping blond to him.  
His servant called through the door, telling him that the doctor was here.  
Salieri had half a mind to tell him that he had done the doctor's job already and demand to be paid instead. He glanced at Mozart, wondering how best to untangle his arms without waking him. A faint color had returned to his cheeks and he breathed with much more ease, though his skin still felt hot to the touch. Salieri smiled and gently kissed his brow before slipping out from underneath and nearly falling ungraciously to the floor. It wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last.  
He tried to straighten himself before he opened the door, putting on as much of an austere expression as he could manage.  
"You're too late," Salieri said gravely.  
Both the doctor and the servant looked horrified.  
"He lives."  
"For God's sake, man..." The doctor breathed.

Salieri found himself seated on the side of the bed, absently running his fingers through Mozart's tangled hair as the blond slept easily. Between Salieri's more unconventional methods and the doctor's treatment it was expected he would make a full recovery, though it would take some time. Relieved, Salieri didn't mind the last part a bit, not at all, it kept Mozart here, with him. Mozart shifted and awkwardly draped an arm around him, curling up closer.  
A soft knock on the door put him in an awkward spot. He untangled himself as gently as possible but was unable to keep from waking Mozart, his pale blue eyes opening in confusion.  
"Antonio?" He mumbled.  
"Go back to sleep," Salieri whispered, "I'll be back."  
Mozart looked unhappy for a moment before settling on hugging one of the pillows instead.  
"Am I that easily overthrown?" Salieri asked in a mock wounded voice.  
"It smells like you," Mozart replied without otherwise moving.  
"Fair enough..."  
Salieri left his room and found his servant waiting for him.  
"Sir, Frau Mozart is downstairs..."  
His heart dropped through his feet and he nodded, following his servant to the foyer.  
"Signor Salieri, where is my husband?" Constanze inquired earnestly, clutching the hand of young Karl.  
Salieri put his hands together awkwardly before twisting them helplessly.  
"Your husband fell very ill, Frau Mozart... The apartment in which he was housed was not the proper place for a recovery. He is sleeping now. I would like to offer both my services and spare quarters until such time he is well enough to look for someplace else."  
Constanze stood rooted to the spot, her face dead white and jaw dropped in shock.  
"But... But he will be alright, right?"  
He nodded.  
"He is expected to make a full recovery," he replied in lighter tones, "But he is resting now."  
Constanze hugged Karl to her.  
"My servant will show you to your rooms, please do not hesitate to ask for anything you need."  
"I want to see him."  
Salieri nodded, resigned and knowing better than to insist.

Salieri winced at Constanze's half shriek on seeing Mozart, causing Mozart to sit up right in bewilderment.  
"Stanze!"  
"Oh Wolfie, you look terrible!" Stanze fretted, hugging Mozart to her.  
Salieri watched in silence, noting the deeply uncomfortable expression on Mozart's face.  
"I'll be fine," Mozart assured her, taking her arms.  
"Wolfie, what happened? I never should have left, this is all my fault."  
Mozart glanced at Salieri with a pleading expression and Salieri took his cue.  
"Frau Mozart, these things happen," He tried, kicking himself the moment he said it, "But rest assured that the worst is over."  
Mozart looked relieved as Constanze let go and allowed him to hug Karl.  
"He knows," Mozart said simply, looking at her.  
"Knows what?"  
"Everything. About you. About me. About us."  
"Wolfgang, are you crazy!?" Constanze demanded, looking ready to smack him.  
Salieri instinctively moved forward, causing her to glance at him.  
"Wait..." She said faintly, looking at their expressions, "Oh... Oh! THANK GOD."  
Salieri staggered a bit.  
"Maybe you'll shut up about him for once," Constanze teased, looking at Mozart and crossing her arms.  
"Slim chance."  
"This is too much..." Salieri muttered.

To say Mozart was giddy may have a bit of an understatement. He was half bouncing around the back of the stage.  
"We're going to be late," Salieri fussed.  
"Who's fault is that?" Mozart demanded, shoving a handful of scores at him," Here, hold these."  
Salieri laughed as Mozart finished straightening himself.  
"There. Presentable?"  
"As presentable as you're ever getting, Lupo," Salieri replied affectionately, offering him his folder with a kiss on the cheek.  
"My father always warned me Italians were trouble. He was right. Are you ready? I didn't even get to hear you warm up. When could you have possibly...?"  
Salieri smirked.  
"Maybe later. They're going to be raising the curtains at any moment. Get out there."  
Mozart nodded, kissing him on the cheek before darting out of the room.  
The crowd was roaring before it ever caught sight of him, the promise of Salieri and Mozart performing together was one that had packed the theater to the rafters, the Emperor seated amongst the masses full of pride for his Court Composer and musicians.  
Mozart was unable to stop grinning as he took the podium.  
"Ladies and gentlemen, you may wonder why I'm standing here and not Maestro Salieri, you'll find out in a moment. We have a very special treat here for you tonight and for tonight only. It is my honor, my highest privilege to be taking the Maestro's place here while he joins our vocalists on stage, lending them the sound of his own voice. This is not something most of you, nor even I myself have had the distinction of hearing and I hope you will join me tonight in giving him and our other vocalists and musicians a most warm welcome."  
He found his heart racing as he took control, mentally forcing himself to refrain from rushing the music in his eagerness. He considered it a herculean task of patience and focus as he made his way through the sinfonia and four scenes before he almost fell off the podium merely watching Salieri walk downstage.  
Mozart found his breath ripped clean out of his chest, starring at the lithe figure clad in the finest black laced with gold brocade. The only flash of color was a scarlet ribbon Mozart had given him for luck earlier that day, tied around his hair at the nape of his neck. Not a sound disrupted his fluid movements, not even his footsteps went noticed. To Mozart he appeared like the Angel of Silence.  
There was a brief second where their eyes met and Salieri offered him the barest of smiles, reminding him of where he was.  
The sound Mozart found himself listening to as the Court Composer sang was unlike anything he had heard previously. He was not entirely sure the sound could be possessed by a human being. The ethereal tones felt like a ghostly embrace, the words licking his ears playfully, causing him to want to spin in place, trying to grasp at something that had no physical form, teasing him, taunting him. His control made Mozart blush and made Katerina's look like child's play. Never in his years had Mozart heard a note held to such perfection, never had he heard someone so in charge of their range he felt useless standing at the podium. The entirety of the theater fell still in such a way he had never seen or felt before, holding its breath as though afraid that a single movement of air would disrupt the sound. Not a note came from the ensemble, not a whisper from the other vocalists. So enraptured was Mozart that he didn't even notice the stunned expressions among the audience, or the pure satisfaction on the face of the Emperor.  
The silence that fell on the house seemed far removed from reality, in a way that Mozart often only experienced after an entire performance. Salieri stood tall and quiet on stage, his expression unreadable.  
The Emperor himself broke the spell, rising from his seat, and the applause was thunderous. Only Mozart saw the flicker of relief on Salieri's face and the performance continued.

"My God," Mozart breathed some time later, "If we hadn't talked you into the opera were you ever going to tell me you could sing like _that?"_  
Salieri bowed his head, embarrassed.  
The two of them sat alone on a bench well out of the way, enjoying the night summer air after the performance. Salieri was more intrigued with the way the moonlight cast an aura on Mozart's ghost white form than he was with anything else.  
"It's nothing."  
"That was the furthest thing from nothing I have ever heard!" Mozart cried, still feeling short on air, his heart still fluttering, "Antonio I have never heard anything like that in my life..."  
He shrugged, "You're making a big deal out of this..."  
"Of course! I swear to God the Heavens just opened up and dropped your ass on the stage one day!" Mozart insisted, unable to even control his hand gestures, "What in Heaven's name are you keeping yourself in silence for?"  
"Wolfgang, enough."  
"You sing to your students, don't you?"  
"I said that's enough."  
Mozart deflated, his shoulders falling.  
"I'm sorry, Antonio, it's just... You're incredible and you should be seen as such."  
Salieri looked puzzled as Mozart kissed him on the cheek.  
"I'm just shy," he muttered.  
"With a voice like that you could knock down all of Europe, nothing to be shy with."  
Salieri sighed, shaking his head but the earnest look on the blond's face made him smile.  
"I'll sing. But only if you're there with me."  
Delighted Mozart hugged him tightly before kissing him again.  
"Where else would I be?"  
Salieri smiled warmly, contently, wrapping his arms around Mozart in return and placing his lips against his lover's.  
"La mia vita... Amore mio... Ti amo, ti amo..."  
Wolfgang grinned into his neck.  
"I love you too."

**Author's Note:**

> My use of von Walsegg is pretty well improvised and my knowledge of poisons is pretty basic, really. I need to do more research before I can give you a blow by blow of what Mozart may have been hit with, providing I can search that without being questioned. It's been too long since I wrote any Sherlockian pieces. Isn't there a site for mystery writers with that?


End file.
